


who's gonna drive you home

by cigarettestainedeyes



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Bossy Steve, Enemies to Friends, Hot Tub, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Porn star steve, Recreational Drug Use, little dub con but not too much, this slightly turned into a bottom billy situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-08-26 06:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettestainedeyes/pseuds/cigarettestainedeyes
Summary: Steve finds himself giving Billy rides on more than one occasion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to lucybrown45 and my friend mariah for looking over this.
> 
> this was honestly going be some word -vomit headcanon rambling nonsense thing i posted on tumblr but then i exploded everywhere
> 
> title is a song from The Cars
> 
> find me on tumblr: harrygroves

The first September day Steve Harrington wakes up and realizes he _doesn’t_ have to go to school, he’s...perplexed.

He’s relieved but it feels wrong somehow.

And he should be _happy_ , he’d argued with his parents for months -- his dad, really. His mom was totally fine with the concept of taking a year off to weigh his options.

_“Why would you want to backpack around Europe? What’s in Europe?” His dad asked._

_“Culture.” Steve replied. “The Mona Lisa, the Eiffel Tower, french Coca-Cola.”_

_His mom cracked a smile and he knew he had her on his side._

The truth was, he didn’t know _what_ he wanted to do; study abroad, start working right away, suffer at community college with the lugs taking welding and construction and the bores taking accounting.

Yeah, his options were...limitless.

But this felt nice. It felt good to wake up at noon and sip slowly through a cup of coffee while pretending to care what was in the newspaper before finally settling down in the living room and messing around with some video games, dozing with the controller in his hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The phone rang around two.

He reached over and grabbed hold of the receiver on the side table, brought it up to his ear, said groggily, “Hello?”

“Steve? It’s Dustin.”

He blinked, tried to snap himself out of being half-asleep. “Uh. Hi?”

“Hey, yeah, so we’re almost out of school and Max just told us there’s this new game opening at the arcade and we really wanna go but all of our parents will be working and since I know you’re not busy -- ”

“Dustin, I’m _very_ busy.” He says sternly, looking over himself in his wrinkled boxer shorts and cold coffee wedged between his legs.

“Right, but I figured you maybe could take us to the arcade?”

Steve contemplates it for a minute. Another minute. There’s sounds on the other end of the line, like Dustin is arguing with someone.

Then he’s back, “Steve, I know you’re mulling, but we’re not really supposed to be on this phone so if you could just -- ”

“ _Okay_ , yeah. 3:15?”

“You’re the man, Steve.”

“Yeah, yeah, put it in writing.” He hangs up. Sighs again. Then slowly stands, lets his muscles contract and crack.

“Fuck.”

 

 

 

 

 

Dustin sits in front, he always insists on it.

Mike’s got Will in his lap and Lucas and Max are side by side, clutching their hands together.

“Left here!” Dustin shouts, like Steve’s going to _miss_ the turn.

“I know where the damn arcade is.” Steve shouts back, pulling in.

They _rush_ out of the car before he even has it in park, Will actually trips getting out. Steve cracks a grin. He knows he’s an asshole, but he just can’t help it.

“Hey! Who’s gonna need a ride home?” He shouts at their retreating figures.

Dustin turns as he’s running, slows down a bit but keeps moving backwards. “Me!” He says, stretches the word a bit too long.

“You got two hours!” Steve yells back.

 

 

 

 

 

After getting some pizza and walking around the two general stores nearby, Steve finds himself bored and out of things to do.

He hates this. It’s only day one and he _hates_ this.

“God, why did I never develop a fucking hobby?” He mumbles to himself while staring at rows of jigsaw puzzles.

The clerk keeps _staring_ at him like he’s going to steal something so he buys one, it’s a Mr. T cartoon puzzle, 500 pieces. It’s cheap and looks easy.

He sits in his car and listens to music until the kids come back out.

He honks until Dustin spots him.

The boy bounces over, happy as a clam.

“I kick _ass_ , Steve. Did you know that?”

“It’s whispered in my ear every night before I go to bed.” Steve says, monotone. “Everyone else got a ride?”

“Well…” Dustin trails off.

Max is coming up behind him, shoulders squared, lower lip jutted out. She’s pissed. Steve’s good at identifying their expressions.

“Billy bailed on getting me, I don’t know, he just told me he couldn’t pick me up. Can you take me home?” She asks brusquely.

“Sure.” Steve says.

They both get in the back and talk about whatever stupid game they were playing. Steve doesn’t pay attention.

He drops Dustin off and then tells Max to get up front so she can give him directions.

When they pull up to her house, Billy’s car is there.

“What an asshole.” She spits out, all fire.

“It’s fine.” Steve tells her.

“Thanks, Steve. You’re a nice guy.” She tells him before climbing out.

She walks in angry, moving quick like she’s about to demand answers.

Steve kind of wants to wait around to see if there’s any fireworks.

He doesn’t.

 

*

 

A couple weeks later and Steve’s going out of his mind. He’s read every book in his house, talked to every friend still hanging out in Hawkins, even gone as far as to ask his mother what he can help out with around the house -- he’s going _nuts_.

He’s done the Mr. T puzzle _three_ times.

He can’t help himself.

He drives to Hawkins High.

It’s early, kids will still be arriving. He’s not even two months out of high school and he already misses the steadiness of it all, how he always had somewhere to be.

Now it’s just nothing.

He parks at the edge of the lot, takes his time walking across it as kids pull in around him and get out of their cars, as buses pull up and drop off loads of kids, past the burners hanging out behind the dumpsters trying to get one last rip before first period.

He can see across the big parking lot where the younger kids are being dropped off at the neighboring middle school.

He spots the curly head of Dustin.

The awkward walk of Will.

“Hey.” The voice jolts him back to where he is. He turns around.

It’s Max. She’s a bit red in the face, skateboard under her arm.

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing here?” She asks.

He shrugs. “I don’t...really know. Just weird to be out of it, ya know? Kinda miss it.”

She looks at him with a very concerned expression. “You’re weird.”

He smiles a little. “You roll here today?” He nods at her board.

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Where’s your brother? Why didn’t he take you?”

She purses her lips. “He just couldn’t.”

Steve nods absently. “How’s school?”

“I hate it.” She says bluntly.

He’s still nodding. “Well, don’t give it up. You could be as lucky as me one day.”

She rolls her eyes. “Bye Steve.” She says before dropping her board and rolling away.

Steve waits to leave until the hordes of people dwindle to a mere few roaming around before first period bell. It rings and something inside him tenses up, the familiar feeling of running _late_ for his first class -- he’s never going to have that again.

 

 

 

 

 

After an afternoon nap and a raid of the fridge for leftovers, he contemplates getting a job. There was a Help Wanted sign at the hardware store. It’s not like he needs the money -- thanks mom and dad -- but it would be nice to have somewhere to go every day.

He changes into decent, ironed clothes and tells his mom on the way out that he’ll be back before dinner.

It’s a quick drive to town. He sits in the parking lot of the lame excuse for a strip mall and smokes a cigarette, watching an old woman bringing her clothes into the dime laundromat, a couple of kids running around playing tag -- seems dangerous in a parking lot, and right before he’s about to snuff out the cigarette and go inside, he spies Billy Hargrove leaving the drug store, tapping a pack of smokes against his palm.

He was on foot, walking toward the main road.

And just like that, Steve's curiosity was piqued. Didn’t take much these days.

He pulled the car around the lot and drove up to Billy walking on the side of the road.

“Hey!” He shouted as he rolled down the window.

Billy turned his head sharply toward Steve, no look of surprise, just annoyance.

“What?” Billy snapped.

“Where’s your car?” Steve asks.

Billy screws up his face, a mix between disgusted and confused. “Fuck off, Harrington!”

“Why’ve you been bailing on Max? It’s not like I don’t mind bringing her home and stuff it’s just -- ”

“Okay, are you lost dude? Get the fuck out of here!” Billy snaps, walking faster.

Steve presses on the gas and pulls away, rolling the window up.

He glances at Billy in his side-mirror. “Yeah, okay, don’t know what I expected outta that."

 

*

 

He’s lazy -- but finally -- in the middle of October, Steve follows up on his original plan to get a job. He calls the hardware store and sets up an interview. Mr. Brant seems nice. He’s old, so old Steve gets the feeling the job is going to be ridiculously easy. He may not _know_ anything about hardware, but he can point to aisles as good as the next guy.

On the way home from the interview he loosens the tie around his neck, turns up the heat in his car and once again spots the familiar figure of Billy Hargrove, bomber jacket gripped tight around him, pants even tighter. He’s walking stiffly, obviously freezing.

Impulse makes him slow down alongside him, opens the window. Doesn’t know _why_.

“Hey!” Steve shouts to get his attention.

Billy jolts, turns and looks at Steve. “Jesus _Christ_ , Harrington, what’s your damage?” His teeth are chattering.

“Is there something wrong with your car? Look, I know some people who can take a look at it -- ”

“I’m sorry, did I miss the part where we became _friends_? Are you _that_ bored?” Billy bitches, breath coming out in puffs, disbelief on his face.

Winter was settling in fast in Hawkins, like it wanted to skip fall and get to the shitty part.

“Look, it’s cold, did you _want_ a ride? I know you’re too _proud_ to ask for one.” Steve says thickly.

Billy purses his lips, walks up to the car and bends down to look at Steve through the window. “I don’t usually let guys just pick me up off the street, Harrington. It’s gonna cost ya. And I’m gonna overcharge the _hell_ outta you.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, _okay_ , just get in or I’m leaving.”

“Harrington -- ”

“Seriously, I don’t need anymore zingy one-liners from you.”

“Steve -- ”

“Get in the _car_.”

“The _door_ is _locked_.” Billy says, pulls on it to make a point.

Steve pauses a moment. “Yeah, I _know_ that.” He says, clicking open the latch.

Billy gets in, rolls the window up fast and reaches over to turn the heat on high.

They drive in silence for nearly the whole ride.

“So what’s up with your car?” Steve asks again.

Billy lets out an annoyed sigh. “Didn’t realize it was any of your fucking business.”

“It’s not but amuse me. What’s going on? Gotta be tough with school and basketball.”

“I quit the team.” Billy mutters, his tone bitter.

“Ah.” Steve says, and for the first time, this feels _awkward_. He doesn’t know _anything_ about Billy.

They both go quiet again.

Steve stops in front of Billy’s house and Billy gets out without a word, slams the door shut behind him.

Steve rolls the window down. “You’re welcome!” He shouts.

Billy doesn’t respond, acts like he doesn’t even hear Steve.

 

*

 

He gets a call from Max on Sunday, begging him to take her to school the following day.

“Why can’t your brother?” He asks.

“Neil took his keys away last month and I’ve no idea when he’s going to get them back. We never signed up to be on the bus route so we’re screwed.”

“Oooooooh.” Steve says, nodding into the receiver. “Okay, well, sure I can take you to school, but I won’t be able to do it all week. I have a job now.”

“I know, I know, look I’ll talk to my mom and see if she can convince him to give the keys back. But I would really, _really_ appreciate it.”

“Yeah, you bet.”

 

 

 

 

 

He picks Max up the next morning. She gets in the front seat with a small smile and a thermos of coffee.

“That for me?” He asks.

She nods and hands it to him. “To show my appreciation.”

He takes it, puts it in the middle console. “Where’s your brother?”

She huffs. “Being a little bitch. He says he’s gonna walk.”

“Oh my _god_.”

So Steve does the only sensible thing he can think of.

He lays on the horn.

Max tries to grab his hand but Steve’s using his other one to block her, push her away.

“Steve, _Steve_ , Neil is going to _murder_ you.”

Billy immediately comes outside, stalks right to the car but Steve doesn’t stop honking until Billy’s got the back door open.

“Are you fucking _insane_?” Billy hisses as he slides in and shuts the door.

He moves quick, reaches up and smacks at Steve who mimics what he did with Max and bats Billy’s hands away.

“Don’t harass the driver.”

“You’re not driving yet, it’s perfectly legal.”

“Next time don’t be a child and just get out here.”

“God, can we just _go_?” Max whines.

Steve drives them to school. He waits until Max leaves the car, Billy almost leaves too fast for Steve to catch but he manages to lock the back door before Billy gets the chance.

“Harrington, I swear to _god_.”

Steve whirls around in the seat. “Look, Max told me your dad took your keys away.”

Billy crosses his arms, looks away.

“Why?” Steve asks.

“Cause he’s got a small dick.” Billy deadpans.

Steve unlocks the door. “Okay, get out.”

Billy does without another word.

 

*

 

Steve’s driving to work early one morning when he sees Max rolling to school on her board.

Steve knows Mr. Brant won’t mind if he’s late.

He picks her up and drives her the rest of the way to school.

“Is he walking?” Steve asks, his voice tired.

She nods.

“God, how long’s your dad gonna keep this up? Doesn’t your mom care that you’re skateboarding and we’re literally on the cusp of winter?”

She shrugs. “I don’t ask, I don’t want to start Neil up.”

Steve looks at her with sympathy.

She doesn’t meet his eyes, thanks him before getting out of the car.

He mumbles to himself while he drives to find Billy.

When he spots him, he lets out a quiet, “fuck.”

He pulls over, rolls down the window. “Get in.” He demands.

Billy’s _shaking_. “Fuck, fuck.” He says before sliding in the car, putting up absolutely _no_ fight.

“You need to buy a winter jacket.”

“I’ll make sure to ask Santa for one.” Billy says, blasting the heat in Steve’s car.

Billy wraps his arms around himself and shivers the whole ride to school.

 

 

 

 

 

Steve doesn’t _want_ to take Max and Billy home.

Or -- he doesn’t _want_ to _want_ to.

But he’s there anyways, tapping on his steering wheel and staring at the school doors.

He hears the faint sound of a bell and students begin pouring out a few seconds later.

Billy’s out before Max, walking towards the lot slowly.

Steve gets out of the car, leans back against it and waits for Billy to see him. He smokes a cigarette and listens to the mindless chatter around him, talks of parties and tests and _that bitch, Heather, we’re never letting her sleep over again._

The middle school doors open and Max finds Billy before either of them see Steve.

He watches them talk. It only lasts a few minutes before Max is gone, disappearing back into the crowd.

Billy’s eyes finally find Steve, Steve in his sunglasses and black wool coat, looking much too old and much too important for Hawkins high school.

Billy walks over to him. “Going to a funeral?” He asks.

Steve cocks his head. “No?”

“What’s with the get-up?”

“...it’s like, thirty degrees.”

“Oh yeah, that.”

“Is Max getting a ride home?”

Billy nods. “She’s staying after. So. You here to take me home?”

“Nope, just missed the smell of the cafeteria food.”

“Think you can take me somewhere?” Billy asks, ignoring Steve’s joke.

“You’ve never been interested in my rides before.” Steve points out.

A smile tugs at the corners of Billy’s mouth. “Consider me fully _interested_.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Where do you need to go?”

“Evansville.”

“What? That’s like, forty minutes away.”

“Yeah, well there’s nothing but shit-weed in this town. You bring me there, I’ll get you high for the first time.”

“I’ve _smoked_ before.”

“Not shit like this.” Billy’s so _sure_ of himself.

“...fine, but I don’t want to hear _shit_ about my music.”

“Deal.”

 

 

 

 

 

Billy bitches about the music the _whole_ way there.

Steve’s focused on not missing the exit so he can’t bat Billy’s hands away as he twists the knob back and forth through FM radio, muttering about everything he hears.

“God, can’t stand all this talk-show bullshit.”

“Fucking Madonna _again_?”

“I know this probably makes me public enemy number one, but I think Michael Jackson’s overrated.”

On and on, he whines and whines, chain-smoking with the window barely _cracked_.

“Are you _on_ something?” Steve finally asks.

Billy looks at him slowly, takes the cigarette from his mouth and blows the smoke at Steve.

“No?”

“I don’t think we’ve ever talked this much.”

“ _I’m_ the one supplying all the conversation here.”

“You said you like _Wham!_. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.”

“They get too much flak.” Billy waves a hand at him dismissively. “It’s this exit.”

Steve _barely_ gets in the lane, gets honked at for cutting someone off.

Billy tells him where to go and they end up at a bar, some shitty hole in the wall with a flickering sign and dark windows, peeling posters of half-naked women yellowed with age.

“Wait here.” Billy tells him.

Steve feels like a parent, too _lame_ to follow his kid inside.

But he doesn’t argue.

Billy comes back out after _twenty_ minutes.

Annoyed, Steve asks, “What took you so long?”

“Tried to overcharge me, needed to renegotiate.”

The smell of the weed encompasses the whole car in minutes.

Billy pulls the bag out of his pocket when they get back on the highway. It’s full, almost bursting.

He pulls out a crystal-covered bud and sets about rolling a joint.

“Dude, if I get pull over we’re _fucked_.”

“Well, be a good boy and abide by the speed limit.”

Steve shoots him a look that Billy doesn’t see.

They drive back, listening to the rock station Billy found and it doesn’t take long before Billy has a nice fat joint rolled, lights it up and exhales a ploom with a satisfied groan.

“God bless that rat-shit.” He says, extends his hand with the joint to pass it to Steve.

They smoke, and Billy’s right, the weed gets him _baked_. He keeps catching his eye in the mirror, sees how the red veins around his irises darken.

“You tanked already, Harrington?”

Steve starts laughing, can’t help it. They’re close enough to Hawkins that Steve’s not paranoid about cops anymore and Billy’s _funny_.

He never knew that.

“Don’t say I never did anything nice for you.” Billy mutters, sucking on the joint, greedy.

“Yeah, I’m so privileged, I’ll have to mark the day down in my diary.”

Billy chuckles.

Steve gets him back home. They’re both _out_ of it.

Billy doesn’t thank him, but he places a bud on Steve’s dashboard before he gets out of the car.

Steve looks at, smiles, then watches Billy go into his house before putting the weed in his middle console and pulling off.

 

*

 

Steve’s out buying groceries right before closing time, when the store manager is glaring at him for taking up time she could be stocking or mopping and the only other person in the store is Crazy Harry who talks to himself in at least three different voices.

He’s putting the bags in the car when he hears someone stumble behind him.

He turns around, expecting Harry, not expecting Billy walking across the lot limping and bleeding.

“Holy shit.” Steve says.

Billy looks over at him, with one good eye, the other busted shut.

“Drug store still open?” Billy asks gruffly.

Steve shakes his head. “No, it closed fifteen minutes ago.”

“Fuck!” Billy snaps, kicks at the frozen ground.

“Jesus, that cut on your head’s _really_ bleeding, c’mon, let me bring you home.”

Billy spits, it comes out red. “No way.”

“What? Why? You need a bed, and gauze.”

“No, forget it.”

“Billy, stop being so pig-headed -- ”

“Where do you think I just _came_ from?” Billy snaps.

Steve doesn’t have anything to say to that. He doesn’t know _what_ to say.

Billy’s looking around on the ground, searching.

“What’re you looking for?”

“A rock, a brick, something big.”

“Why?”

“Cause I need some stuff.”

“Whoa, okay, _okay_ , you’re not _breaking_ into the drug store.”

“Well what do you _suggest_?” Billy snaps.

“Just get in the car.”

“No.”

“Look, with the state you’re in, I doubt it’d take much to _drag_ you into the car so just drop the dramatics and _get in the car_.”

“Fine!” Billy shouts and stomps over, angrily opens the back door and gets in with a wince and a slam.

Steve gets in the front.

“I’m not going home.” Billy bites out.

“I know.” Steve says calmly.

“...I’m not going to the hospital.”

“I figured.”

“...where are you taking me?”

“My house.”

The ride is quiet, tense. Steve keeps looking in his rearview mirror like he’s expecting to see a pair of headlights following him but he’s just greeted with Billy’s face, hair matted against the blood on his head.

Billy breaks the silence, words coming out thick like he’s talking around a mouthful of blood. “Look, I don’t know what fucking Eagle Scout badge you’re doing this for but I want it on record that I didn’t ask for help.”

Steve mulls that over for a couple of minutes. “First of all, there is no _record_ , this isn’t an episode of _Geraldo_. And second...it’s for my Help A Local Teen Delinquent badge.”

Billy makes a belligerent sound but he doesn’t say anything else.

 

 

 

 

 

“My parents are home so keep it down.” Steve tells him when they pull into his driveway. “Oh, and I gotta get groceries out of the trunk so just sit and try not to bleed on anything.”

Steve leads Billy into the house. He’s got his fists jammed in his jacket pockets like he’s holding himself together and he’s moving _really_ slow. Inside, it’s dark and quiet. His parents must’ve been in bed already.

He shows Billy the kitchen, Billy who is looking left and right like he’s sizing up the silver.

“Stay here. And don’t steal anything.” Steve tells him.

Billy flips him off.

Steve gets the groceries in the kitchen then goes to find the first aid kit.

Billy’s flexing his hand when Steve comes back, knuckles bloody, nails dirty.

“Shit, I think my pinky’s broken.” He mutters.

“If you can move it, it’s not broken.” Steve says.

“It fucking _hurts_.”

“It might be sprained.” Steve sits down next to Billy and scoots his chair closer. “Let’s get you out of this jacket.”

The material is thin, muddled with blood, cold to the touch. Steve drops it on the floor. There’s some blood on his shirt too, dark red against white.

“Are you cut anywhere else?” Steve asks. “Besides the forehead and you’re hand?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, shirt off too.” Steve instructs.

Billy doesn’t move. “Can we just do my head?”

“Just let me see.”

Billy, although weakened, is firm about it. He keeps saying _no_.

“God, you’re so fucking stubborn.” Steve mutters, stands and gets a washcloth, runs the tap until it’s hot.

He squeezes the excess water out and rejoins Billy, starts wiping at his face, trying to get the blood and dirt.

Billy takes it from him. “I got it.”

“I thought your pinky was broken.” Steve said.

“Nah, it’s just sprained.” Billy says, winks with his good eye.

Steve grimaces. “How’s your face feel?”

He dodges the question, “You got anything to drink?”

Steve stares at him for a beat, then sighs in defeat and goes over to the cabinet.

When he puts a glass of water down on the table Billy doesn’t touch it. “Got anything harder than that?”

“I have juice boxes.” Steve tells him.

“Oh, c’mon Harrington, I’m dying here.”

“If you let me properly clean you up I’ll get you something.”

Billy stiffens, opens his mouth like he’s going to fight it, but stalls himself, nods tightly like it’s taking tremendous willpower to let Steve help him out.

Steve sits down in his chair and uncaps some peroxide, douses a cotton ball.

He leans in close and wipes at the cuts on Billy’s face, the boys expression screwing up in pain.

“Fuck, that stings.”

Steve works quickly, gets a clean cotton ball and does the same to the cut on his head. “Jesus, that’s a deep one. You might need some stitches.”

“Nah, just band aids.”

“You’ll scar.”

Billy’s not looking at him, has his eyes trained to the side. “Girls love scars.”

Steve tries not to think about the scar on his own chin that Billy gave him, it’s hardly noticeable but it’s still there.

He applies some band aids, works on avoiding touching around Billy’s swollen-shut eye.

“Okay, lemme see your hand.”

He treats the wounds on Billy’s knuckles, wraps them in gauze, then goes to find some vodka as promised.

He brings back a bottle and two heavy tumblers, pours them each a drink and pushes a glass over to Billy.

They sip.

Steve grimaces. “God, how do people drink this shit without mixers?”

Billy’s already finished his glass. He reaches over and takes the bottle, pours himself another.

“So. Your dad?” Steve asks without _actually_ asking, rim of his glass on his mouth, takes another sip to chase away the question as if it leaves a bad taste lingering.

Billy finishes his second drink with a toss of his head and his eyes stay up at the ceiling. “Yeah. My dad.”

“He do this often?”

“Not this bad.” Billy shrugs. “He was in a shit mood. I was in the way.”

“Sounds like a charming guy.” Steve says before taking another sip of his own drink. He gags a little. “Okay, I’m caving and putting orange juice in mine. Want some?”

“Nope.” Billy says, pouring out more.

“You’re gonna wanna slow down if you’re going to take painkillers.” He says, opens the fridge and takes out the glass pitcher of freshly-squeezed juice.

“This is my painkiller.” Billy says.

Steve pours some orange juice in his glass and sits back down.

“Why don’t you tell someone? About your dad.”

Billy licks his lips. “It’s one more year. Hell, it’s eight months. I can deal with it.”

“What if you can’t, though? What if he goes...too far?”

Billy’s quiet. “I manage to get out before it goes too far.” He shifts in his seat and hisses in pain, clutches gently at his side.

“Yeah, by the looks of it, you _barely_ got out this time.”

“I’m _fine_.” Billy says. “My head just...hurts.”

“Well you’re not getting any painkillers now, you won’t wake up.”

“Maybe I don’t wanna wake up.” Billy says thickly.

Steve swirls his drink around. He’s never been really good with this shit.

“Look, like you said, you got eight months. You can get through that. Then you’re free to do whatever you want. Don’t...don’t let him win.”

Billy makes eye contact with his one good eye. “Wow, didn’t expect such a pep talk.”

“But you expected everything else?” Steve cocks an eyebrow.

Billy shakes his head very slightly. “To be honest, you’re freaking me out a bit seeing as the last conversation we had ended up with your face beaten in and me passed out on the floor.”

Steve says, reaches out his glass and clinks it against Billy’s. “Good times.”

“Why’re you doing it though?” Billy asks.

“I don’t know, maybe because I have a _soul_. You might be an asshole but even _you_ don’t deserve to die bleeding out on the sidewalk in freezing weather.”

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who would disagree with you there.”

Billy’s pouring himself another drink. Steve snags the bottle from him. “Okay, okay. You’re cut off. I think it’s making you _more_ depressed.”

“Nah, that’s my life doing that.” Billy says, taking a long drink.

“Come on, bring your drink with you, you can pass out in the guest room.”

“Your parents won’t mind?”

“Oh, they’ll mind _a lot_ , but they’re wasps. They won’t say anything till you leave, and if they do it’ll all be in code so you won’t know they’re insulting you.”

“You’re making my head hurt worse.” Billy mutters.

They take their glasses and make it to the stairs before Billy stops moving. “Okay, um, how about the couch?” He looks over at it. “I love -- plastic.” He says, eyeing the slip-covers.

Steve smiles, fights back a laugh. “Okay, c’mon, give me your arm.”

Steve wraps an arm around Billy and makes him put his arm over Steve’s shoulder.

Billy lets out a guttural groan. “Oh, _fuck_.” He says, very close to Steve’s ear.

“C’mon, up the stairs. One at a time.”

They go precariously, both holding their glasses even more carefully.

Billy’s fighting against the pain, Steve can feel the way his body clenches with each step.

They make it to the landing and Steve let's him go. Billy wilts a little, goes to lean against the wall, his glass tips with him.

Steve gets a hand back around him. “Alright, let's just get you to the room.”

Steve pushes open the door and brings Billy over to the bed.

“Hold on. Do _not_ lay down. I’ll get you a shirt.”

He goes to his room, quickly goes through his shirts till he finds one that’s soft with age, stretched so that Billy will be able to fit into it.

He creeps back down the hall to the guest room, pushes the door open.

Billy, tipsy from the booze and the pain, has his shirt off, it’s in a puddle on the ground with his jeans, his earlier apprehension apparently melted away.

His chest and torso are colored with bruises, new and old. He’s examining his pectoral before looking up, realizing he’s not alone.

“ _Fuck_.” Steve mutters.

Billy looks down. “Just gimme the shirt.”

“Yeah, but just...wow.”

“Not pretty, huh?” Billy says, holding his hand out for the shirt.

“Can you get it on yourself?”

“Yes, _mom_.”

Steve throws the shirt at him, lets him struggle into it.

“Your ribs could be broken.”

Billy sniffs. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I could call our doctor in the morning, he does house calls.”

“Geez, how much _money_ do you people have?” Billy says, lying down carefully. “Just bring me the bottle and let me die in peace.”

“No more booze tonight but I promise I’ll make you a lovely liquid breakfast.” Steve tells him sarcastically.

“You’re a treat.” Billy tells him, hand over his eyes.

“Try to sleep.” Steve replies before shutting the light off.

He cleans up the kitchen and puts his groceries away before retiring to his room.

 

 

 

 

 

He tosses and turns all night, feels like shit in the morning when he’s woken up from a knock at his door.

“Steve? Sweetie?” It’s his mother.

“Yeah?” He mutters into the blankets, trying to hide his face from the sun.

“Did you bring someone home last night?” She asks tightly, opening the door and poking her head inside.

He rolls over in his bed, pointedly away from her. “Yeah, I’ll explain later. He really needed a place to crash.”

“Steven, this is very...odd of you.” She says.

“I know, I know. I promise I’ll fill you in after I take him home.”

“Alright, well don’t spend all day in bed. Sooner rather than later would be better.”

He groans and waves a hand, trying to get her to go away. She shuts the door.

He changes and looks at himself in the mirror, eyes dark and bleary. His nose feels stuffed. His limbs hurt.

Billy’s still out cold when Steve goes to check on him, breathing heavy through his nose and laid out still.

Steve wants to poke him but doesn’t know where to poke that isn’t bleeding or bruised.

It’s a disturbing thought.

“Billy. Dude, wake up.” Steve says.

Billy doesn’t stir.

“C’mon, get up.” Steve says, and pokes his nose.

He moves a little but still doesn’t wake up.

Steve flicks his nose.

“Fuck!” Billy’s voice is like gravel. He reaches up to touch his face and then groans. “Oh fuck, oh my god I’m blind.”

“Open your other eye.” Steve tells him.

He does, finds Steve with it.

“Oh...yeah, I’m at your house.” Billy says, moves to sit up but fails. “Fuck, fuck, oh god. Painkillers please.” He says with an open palm.

“First sit up. I’ll get you some water.”

Steve goes and gets the medicine and a tall glass, bringing both back to Billy who has managed to pull himself into a sitting position.

“Everything’s spinning, everything hurts.” He mumbles.

“Here, I looted my wisdom teeth Valium, you’re welcome.”

“Great, now grind it up so I can snort it.”

“Not today, skippy. Down the hatch.”

Billy takes the pills, swallows them and half the glass of water.

“I don't think I can stand.” He admits.

“Fuck.” Steve’s hands are on his hips. “My mom’s going to kill me.”

“Great, we can recover together, jump in.” Billy moans, patting the spot next to him.

“Oh ha-ha. Glad your sense of humor isn’t bruised.”

“Ugh, probably the only part of me that isn’t.”

“Wait here.”

“Hey!” Billy reaches a hand out. “Don’t...tell them.” Billy says quickly.

“You’re not in much of a position to chase me down the stairs so put your ego on the back burner and lay down.” Steve snaps before shutting the door.

He takes a deep breath and goes to join his parents in the kitchen.

He sits down and calmly explains to them exactly who Billy is.

His mom is pale when he’s finished. His dad is quiet.

“He doesn’t want cops involved. He doesn’t want to go to the hospital. I don’t even think he wants to _be_ here, but he can’t really...move right now.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” his mom says, tears in her eyes.

“So can he stay another day or two?” Steve asks.

“Of course, of course. Should I make him something?”

“Think you could make that awesome soup?” Steve asks.

She nods, dabs at her eyes with her fingers. “Of course.”

His dad goes back to reading the newspaper.

Steve returns to Billy, who’s dozing off. The Valium worked quicker than Steve would’ve thought.

“I feel sick.” Billy mumbles.

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have given you that on an empty stomach. I’ll go get you some crackers.”

“Just get me a bucket.” Billy tells him.

“You’ll be _fine_ , just sleep. Mom’s making soup.”

Billy burps a little, like a pre-vomit burp.

“Do _not_ throw up in here. Just relax.”

“Can’t do that with you gabbing.” Billy tries to sound angry but he just sounds tired.

“Sleep.” Steve commands before leaving the room.

He has to go to work, tells his mom who promises she’ll check in on Billy periodically. Steve grabs his name tag and leaves.

It’s the longest shift of his life.

 

 

 

 

 

When he gets back to his house, Billy is on the couch downstairs looking at _photo albums_ with his mother.

“And this is Steve when we sent him to swim camp.” she’s cooing. “He won _three_ of the races that year.”

“Mom!” Steve says severely, dropping his car keys in the bowl by the door.

They both look up from the couch. Steve’s mom stands to greet him and Billy gives him an expression from behind her with his one good eye that says _help me_.

“Sweets! I was just showing Billy some old photos.”

“For the love of god, _why_?” Steve asks.

“Oh, stop. It’s _fun_!” She says, clasping her hands together. “And I made cookies, let me get you some.” She leaves to go to the kitchen.

Steve looks at Billy. “I am _so_ sorry.”

“You should be, I’ve seen more of your ass than I ever wanted to.”

A look of horror crosses Steve’s face. “Oh my _god_ , the Easter shoot.”

Billy’s grinning, “You were one ugly baby.”

He goes over and takes the album away aggressively.

“I hate her.”

Billy chuckles, winces and touches his side. “At least she likes you.”

Steve puts the album on the table. “How’re you doing?”

“Sore. Puffy. Sore.” Billy says.

“Did you eat?”

“Yes and now I can see why you’re like this.” Billy nods, squinting at Steve, gesturing at him vaguely.

“I’ll kick you.”

“You will _not_.”

“I’ll _think_ about kicking you.”

“You do that.”

Steve’s mom comes back with cookies and lemonade. Steve shoves one in his mouth, drains a glass of lemonade and helps Billy get back upstairs to the guest room.

He’s got a hand gripped around Billy’s side, can feel the heat of his skin through the shirt. He’s damp, groaning periodically against Steve’s neck.

“I think you have a fever.” Steve says, moving at Billy’s pace.

They make it back to the room and Billy collapses out of Steve’s hold onto the bed.

“Oh fuck, bad idea.” He moans, touches his side.

He shimmies out of his shirt, throwing it aside.

He’s all blue and purple.

There are other marks that are yellow-green, fading back into the tan skin, old but not _too_ old, and Steve swallows around a lump in his throat. _This happens a lot._

For some reason Steve finds himself resisting the urge to reach out and touch.

He doesn’t know where _that_ comes from.

 

*

 

It takes two more days for Billy to feel well enough to walk around on his own. Steve keeps him occupied in the guest room, he brings in the television that was in his room and they watch crappy sitcoms and late-night black and white movies. Steve makes stove-top popcorn and sneaks booze in.

Billy goes through Steve’s Valium like Pez.

Then, with no preamble, “I have to go back to my house.” Billy tells him.

“Yeah, figured. You sure your ribs are okay?”

“Doesn’t matter, my dad’ll do worse if I don’t get back to school.”

“Where does he think you _are_?” Steve asks with a wrinkle of his nose.

Billy pulls at a loose thread on the blanket. “I called Max the first day I was here, told her to tell Neil I was staying at a friends.”

“And he accepted that?”

Billy shrugs. "Who knows.”

His eye isn’t swollen shut anymore but it’s still busted up and the white around his iris is red. It makes Steve a little nauseous whenever he looks at it.

“Alright, well. I’ll bring you home.”

Billy takes his jacket and the shirt he arrived in -- both cleaned by Steve’s mother. He doesn’t know what she used to get _blood_ out but the stains are gone.

Steve drives Billy back to his house. When they pull up Billy is looking at it morosely.

“Thanks.” He says, and it’s the first thank you Steve has ever heard from Billy.

“Yeah, and...just let me know if you need somewhere to crash again.”

Billy nods a little. “Tell your mom thanks too.”

“Will do.”

“And Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“If you tell anyone about this I’ll show them this.”

He produces a small photo from his pocket. It’s from the Easter shoot, he’s naked and snuggling up to a stuffed rabbit twice his size.

“ _Jesus_ , give that back!” Steve says, reaches over fast but Billy’s quicker and jumps out of the car.

“Consider it insurance!” He says and shuts the door in Steve’s face.

“ _Such_ an asshole!” Steve shouts at him, even though Billy can’t _hear_ him.

 

*

 

Steve doesn’t see Billy again for _two_ months.

He doesn’t expect to _hear_ from him or anything.

And it’s not like he’s been keeping an eye out for a flash of denim or golden hair.

 _Whatever_.

It’s snowing when he gets out of work, coming down in sheets, covering the roads and the buildings with nothing but blinding white.

Billy’s leaning against one of those big mailboxes, like he was just _waiting_ there for Steve to come out. He’s wearing a _real_ jacket.

It’s obviously a hand-me-down. Or from the thrift store, but it’s _appropriate_ for the weather.

He’s got a cigarette in his mouth, wet from the snow, no longer lit, but he’s pulling on it like it is.

“Hey.” He says, takes the cigarette and flicks it away. It disappears under flakes.

“Hi.” Steve says stupidly.

Billy looks _okay_ , there’s a mark around his eye, remnants of the injury but all in all, he looks _better_.

“Wanna drive me home?” Billy asks.

Steve doesn’t answer for a moment, nods when he realizes he’s staring.

They go to Steve’s car.

In the distance, across the lot, he sees _Billy’s_ car.

“Isn’t...that yours?” Steve asks, nodding at it.

Billy doesn’t look, doesn’t _need_ to. “Yup. Max is at the arcade with those other nerds.”

“Then...why do you need to go home?”

He shrugs. “Left something there.”

“...But…”

“Guess you’ll have to drive me back too.”

Steve doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand.

But he decides that’s _okay_.

“Get in.” He says, unlocking the door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's used to spending Christmas alone. This year is going to be different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've had this sitting in my drafts for, like, months. it was supposed to come out on christmas, then it was supposed to come out on new years, but who am i kidding.
> 
> i want to thank my friend mariah but words couldn't do it justice. she is amazing and patient and her fangirling is what drives me to post this filthy garbage for all you marvelous people.

Christmas had always been a brief affair in the Harrington house. As far back as Steve could remember, he would be roused by his mother early in the morning, they would enjoy peppermint cocoa (coffee when he got older) and open gifts while Christmas music would croon out of the record player.

His dad would always receive a tie and a pair of cuff links, his mother a new dress or set of pearls, maybe some god awful brooch his father thought would look nice on her but would _never_ be worn, and Steve would get everything he’d ever asked for; new shoes, video games, hair products, a cologne he wasn’t old enough to pull off.

But after the gift-opening, when the last bow was in the trash, his family would separate and it would be a normal Tuesday again.

His parents always had a holiday party they had to go to ‘ _it’s company policy, Steve. Can you make your own dinner?’_ And Steve would always say yes, usually heating up a tv dinner and settling down in front of _It’s a Wonderful Life_.

This year he had other plans.

Once his parents are out the door, waves and cheek-kisses exchanged, he goes to the phone and pulls out the slip of paper Billy had given to him during one of their informal road trips to pick up weed.

_“My number.” Billy told him as he pushed the paper into Steve’s hand._

_Steve could swear he was blushing, but maybe it was just the cold?_

_Plus -- it was weird to think that Billy Hargrove would blush over anything._

_But he didn’t miss how Billy’s eyes were darting all over the place, how he was rocking back and forth a little on his feet._

_Steve, his own cheeks red from the sharp waves of wind billowing around them, opened his mouth and said, “Okay. Thanks.”_

But then there had been the whole big fight thing…

_“Last Christmas” played over the speaker at the hardware store, scratchy like the system was wired wrong. Steve was hunched over with his face in his hands, staring out the window at the falling snow. Someone asked him where the hoses were. Steve didn’t mean to shoot the guy a look that could’ve almost been pure disgust but c’mon. What possible use could someone have for a hose near the end of December? But he really didn’t care and just said, “Aisle seven,” watching the guy waddle away._

_The bell over the door let out a tiny ring and Nancy was barreling in, snow melting from her boots while marching right up to him and unwrapping a pink scarf from around her neck._

_She’d heard that he’d been spending a lot of time with Billy and it didn’t sit right with her. Steve wanted to know who’d ratted him out, but he was too angry, jumping too quick to defense as the words fell out of her in a rush, like it was a secret._

_Like it was something dirty._

_“It’s none of your business.” He’d told her immediately, didn’t know why his face felt hot at the thought of someone seeing Billy and him together and thinking it wasn’t okay._

_“It’s my business -- ” she hisses like a snake, her eyes getting wider with every word, “ -- if he’s stealing from you, or lulling you into some weird sense of complacency so he can hurt you -- maybe_ worse _than last time.”_

_He looks away, looks past her at the wall of fifty or so containers holding different-sized nuts and bolts, “Leave it, Nance. I’m serious.”_

_She gets all puffed up, her cheeks holding air cause she was preparing to yell._

_“Get out.” He said before she could unload. “And stop worrying about me. That’s not your job anymore.”_

_Yeah, he was being a dick. And he didn’t even care._

_But he was on edge for the rest of his shift, and when he left work he found Billy leaning against his car, giving him a two-finger wave as Steve made eye contact._

_“Harrington, you heading east?” He asked with a half-smile and hooded eyes._

_It had become a little joke of theirs. Steve didn’t care which way east was, neither did Billy but that wasn’t the point. It usually made Steve smile._

_Not today though._

_“Don't you have, like, shit to do?” Steve griped at him, mouth small and tight, striding over to his car and pretending to be extremely busy fishing his keys out of his pocket._

_Billy cocked his head to the side, says with confusion, “Yeah, figured you’d want in on it?”_

_“Well you figured wrong. I have a life, Hargrove. I can’t keep carting you around. Go play somewhere else.” He said, waving his hand at Billy as if he was a nuisance._

_That calm demeanor Billy had been developing around Steve seemed to melt, leaving the angry and the aggressive in its place once again._

_Steve watched as his eyes hardened, mouth pulling down into a frown, shifting on his feet and standing straighter, chin jutted out. “Whatever you say.” He said shortly, colder than the snow piling up around them before shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling away._

And now Steve felt like an asshole. Having already apologized to Nancy, there was only Billy left to make up with.

He had the phone to his ear, but couldn’t muster up the willpower to dial the number.

His stomach twisted as he stared at the carefully written digits. The paper was creased and a little worn like Billy had been hanging onto it for awhile, like he’d had to psych himself up to give it to Steve.

That’s what made him exhale, hard, and punch the numbers in.

The phone rang a few times, Steve almost hung up as he felt bile rise in the back of his throat. But then --

“Hello?” Billy’s familiar voice greeted on the other end of the line.

Steve opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“Helloooo?” Billy said again, louder and _ruder_ , that ‘ _about to slam some Bible-seller’s’_ voice.

“Uh...hi.” Steve mumbled, forgetting everything he’d wanted to say. Chalk it up to nerves, but suddenly this felt _too_ real.

There was silence on the other end, before finally --

“...who is this?” Billy asked suspiciously.

Steve leans his head against the wall, mumbles almost _sadly_ into the receiver, “Are you heading east?”

There’s silence for a couple of long seconds, and Steve wants to hang up, forget this ever happened.

“I could be heading east. Not sure what kind of company will be waiting for me there though.”

“Well, I heard there’s this guy with Chinese food and shitty Christmas shows and excellent taste in whiskey.”

“You have  _Chinese food_?”

“Well, I was going to get some, if you came over.”

“What about your parents?” Billy asks.

“They’re not here.”

“You’re _alone_. On  _Christmas_ ?” His voice was mockingly breathy, like the very _idea_ was unfathomable. Steve wondered if Billy was winding the telephone cord around his finger just like he was.

“Yeah, I don't know if you’ve heard but the parental units are a pretty big deal, they have to squire around town and make sure to remind everyone.”

“They _squire_?” Billy echoed, laughter in his voice, like there had never been a tiff to begin with, like they were old chums.

“Mmm, complete with top hats. Now get over here.”

“Yes, sir.” Billy says in a fake British accent, which sounds _ridiculous_ coming out of his mouth.

Steve makes sure to tell him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Steve is standing in front of the television, flipping through channels but not paying attention to any of it when there’s a knock at the door. There’s a half dozen little folded-up boxes with rice, noodles, wontons and chicken spread out on the table in front of him. There’s two beers sweating condensation, ready to be opened.

Steve greets Billy, sees the joint tucked behind his ear and then realizes he’s wearing a horrendous blue and white sweater, a reindeer knitted on the front.

“What the _hell_ are you wearing?” Steve says between laughs, nearly doubled over from the lack of breathing.

“An ugly sweater. It’s, like, the _rules_.” Billy says in a _very_ serious tone. “Now move, I’m freezing.”

“I can’t let you in the house while you’re wearing that.” Steve says, planting his feet and blocking off the threshold.

“I mean, I can always _take it off_.” Billy says, voice sweet as molasses with a sly smile playing on his lips, fingering the edge of his sweater and inching it up a little.

“Just get in here.” Steve says with a casual eye-roll.

Billy follows him, kicks off his boots, waltzes into the living room like he owns the place.

He spies Steve’s Christmas tree and lets out a low whistle. “Holy _shit_ , did you guys put enough ornaments on your tree?”

“Oh. Yeah. Mom gets really into that stuff.”

“She could decorate _three_ trees with that amount of tinsel.”

Billy fishes out a baggie of joints from his pocket and drops them on the table, grabs a beer and takes his lighter, using the end to pop open the cap. _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ plays on the television while they sip and load plates up with food.

On the phone it had been easier to talk and make jokes, _“flirt,”_ his mind supplied but he mentally gave that thought a dirty look until it left the room.

But it had been _easier_. Now there were ocean blue eyes and big hands, pink lips pulled over white teeth in a grin that was salacious and _open_ , up for grabs, _inviting_.

Billy was _here_ and Steve was starting to feel that creeping sense of anxiety. He awkwardly ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat.

“Um. So. So I wanted to say -- ”

Billy holds up a hand, not moving his eyes from the screen. “We’re not doing this. You’re fine.”

Steve blinks, feeling dumb. “But, I had a whole speech planned.”

“Pretend you’ve already told me, okay? I mean it.” Billy says, taking a long drink from his beer.

Steve turns his attention back to the tv, not sure if he’s happy about not being able to apologize but he bites his lip, resists speaking up again.

Sometimes it’s not about his feelings. And he needs to start being okay with that.

They both pretend to pay attention to a cartoon they’ve seen a hundred times and dig into their food.

“I fucking hate this Rudolph shit.” Billy says eventually, when the silence is becoming unbearable.

“Your sweater says different.” Steve points his fork at Billy’s chest.

Billy cracks a smile and the tension in the room lifts a little. “Can we smoke in here?”

Steve shakes his head. “Let’s go out back.”

They put shoes on, Steve grabs his coat and they got out the patio door.

Billy stares at the covered pool. “I miss swimming.” He states, lighting up the joint he’d brought.

“The opportunity will come again, I promise.”

Billy gives him a dirty look as Steve takes the joint.

His eyes see past Steve and he jerks his head. “What’s that?”

Steve turns to look at what he’s gesturing to, takes an inhale from the joint and says in a deep, pot-holding voice, “The hot tub.”

“Shut up.” Billy blurts out, looks at it enviously as Steve blows out a large puff of smoke.

Steve passes the joint back. “Ever been in one?”

Billy shakes his head.

“...wanna do it?” Steve asks with a shrug.

Billy’s eyes widen a little. “What? Now?”

“No, next Thursday. _Yes_ , now you moron.”

Billy hits the joint again, forgets that he’s supposed to be passing it. “I mean,” he gives a small shrug, “Sure.”

Steve strolls over to it, pushes off the lid and clicks the ON button.

“Let’s get our drinks then.”

Billy suddenly seems...nervous. He wets his thumb and pointer finger and extinguishes the joint between them, setting it on the edge of the hot tub.

Steve _likes_ seeing Billy like this, all edgy and tense but not with anger. It’s with...something else.

He’s got his guesses as to what it is.

Billy, constantly jaded and pretending behind his wolfish charm, was a lot easier to read than Steve would’ve expected. His guard was down and Steve was narcissistic enough to think that had something to do with him.

They retrieve their beers and Steve tells Billy to grab the handle of whiskey while he goes to pull out towels from the hall closet.

Billy is clutching his beer and the whiskey when Steve joins him. He looks hazy-eyed from the pot, but his shoulders are bunched up like he’s holding his breath.

“You okay?”

“Yes. I’m fantastic.” Billy says in a way that makes it sound like he is _not_ fantastic.

Steve sets the towels on the chaise by the patio door and pulls his shirt off, lets it drop at his feet. Billy’s still holding the beers, the bottle, and a troubled expression.

“You gotta undress, dude.” Steve says with a smile, a small chuckle.

Billy moves automatically, putting everything in his hands down on the little table next to the chaise. He pulls at the edge of his sweater, anxious fingers running over the bottom repeatedly, a glaring difference to earlier when he’d done it to be playfully seductive.

Steve unzips his pants and pretends he doesn’t notice how hard Billy swallows.

When they’re both in their boxers, Steve grabs the towels again, takes his beer. He nods at Billy. “You ready?”

“Mhmm.” Billy hums.

Steve opens the door and the cold air chills him immediately, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. The concrete is like ice under his feet as he leads Billy to the edge of the tub, instantly dropping his towel and swinging a leg over, hissing at the temperature.

Steam rises in swirls, disappearing as it ascends. Steve gets both feet in and slowly lowers himself, turns and looks back at Billy who isn’t moving.

“Come on.” He insists, gets low enough so the waters at the edge of his ass. He takes a deep breath and seats himself fully, letting out a groan of relief.

Billy leaves the stuff in his hands on the ground and dips his foot in, seems surprised at how _hot_ it is but doesn’t stop, letting his leg go lower and lower until he has to put his other foot in, gripping the edge of the tub like Steve did.

Billy’s distracted by the heat and staring at the water, mouth open a little, silently panting, little heaves making his chest contract. Steve stares, unashamed.

He hadn’t seen Billy this naked in months, maybe half a year, since he’d graduated; he felt his mouth go dry as he got full view of his thick thighs, perky ass, the v of his hips, tan skin taut over his muscles as they strain while he adjusts to the water.

Steve couldn’t deny his attraction to men anymore, and it was surprisingly...easy to come to terms with. There’d been no _real_ crisis, no panicking or shame. It wasn’t something he was going to go around flaunting, not in a town like Hawkins.

It had been a rather slow realization, something that came on over months of driving Billy around.

Maybe it had been the way Billy would laugh and throw his head back, so loud and honest, a cackle that made Steve’s stomach flip with pride every time he pulled it out of him.

Or perhaps it was the fleeting glances Billy would send his way when he thought Steve wasn’t looking. But Steve knew, could feel the electric burn of it on the side of his face, creeping up the back of his neck and making the hair stand on end.

It had all come to fruition -- quite literally -- when Steve would lay awake at night, trying not to jerk off to the images in his head. He’d stopped touching himself for so long that he started waking up with wet sheets, like he was fucking fourteen again.

When he’d finally caved and reached down under the waistband of his sweatpants it didn’t take long to come up with scenario of strong hands holding him down, a perfect ass he had the desire to bite, a talented tongue he wanted to lick, stick his fingers in Billy’s mouth and hold it open like he was judging Billy by his incisors. He wanted to hear every moan from the back of his throat, see the saliva pool while he twitched and squirmed, aching to swallow.

And now he had the beautiful, California boy in his hot tub, nervous and blushing and a little tipsy.

Steve was happy for the bubbles in the tub, something to block the view of his dick stirring in his wet boxers.

Billy finally sat down, water stopping at nipple-height and he lets out a breathy laugh. “This is fucking _sweet_.”

Steve snaps out of his thoughts, smiles and takes his beer from the ledge, sips greedily. “I haven’t done this in a long time.” He admits.

“I’d be in here every night.” Billy says, lifting himself out briefly to retrieve the whiskey and his lighter from the concrete.

“You _say_ that, but once you have it, it’s just kind of there, always. So you don't use it as much.”

“That makes _no_ sense.”

“Just light the joint.” Steve says, draining his beer bottle.

Billy does, it sparks and ash flies as he tries to puff the flame down to something manageable. There’s only a hit or two left. He passes it to Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve takes the joint carefully, like he’s handling a rare artifact.

For all the money and street-cred _King Steve_ has, he can never find good weed unless it comes from Billy.

He puckers his lips and sucks around the joint, draining it of all life, Billy’s dark eyes boring into him.

He dips the cherry-red end into the hot tub, uncaring.

“Hope you brought that baggie out, we’re gonna need more.” He says, letting the smoke leave his mouth slowly, corners of his mouth ticking up in a smile.

Billy blinks, doesn’t know what Steve’s talking about and when understanding glints in his eyes he swears loudly, “Aw _fuck_.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Billy had been a little bitch about having to get out of the hot tub but Steve countered with the fact that he had bought a shitload of Chinese food and the _least_ Billy could do was go get the weed. Begrudgingly, Billy got out of the hot tub and bolted inside.

“At least _dry off_!” Steve shouted after him.

“Fuck you!” Billy replied, voice a bit higher than usual because of the cold.

Steve let his head fall back and stared up at the stars, waited until he heard the patter of feet on concrete returning.

Billy all but jumped back into the tub and hissed, “ _Fuck_ , okay, so there’s a definite downside to this.”

“Yup,” Steve replies, letting the word pop in his mouth.

“You _suck_.” Billy shivered, fishing out another joint.

“So how’s school?” Steve asks.

“Oh shut the _fuck_ up.” Billy says, each word punching out of him with force.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s not until another full joint and three hard pulls from the bottle that Steve makes a move.

Billy jerks a little, the water sloshing around him as Steve scoots over, pushes their legs together.

“Uh. Hi?” Billy asks, eyes red and bleary.

Steve smiles, lazy and big. “Hi. This is good weed.”

“It. Always is.” Billy says, breath coming out hard as he stares at Steve. “So, uh, when will your parents be back?”

Steve shrugs. “Probably tomorrow morning. They usually stay out late.”

“Damn, lucky you.” Billy says solemnly.

Steve doesn’t tell Billy that it’s _not_ lucky, that he hates it and wishes he could rebel like Billy does, make a goddamn spectacle of himself so that maybe his parents would notice him.

Steve uses the moment to his advantage as Billy looks at him with sympathy, while he’s weakened by Steve’s _sad_ life. He takes the plunge, leans in and kisses the other boy, obviously catching him by surprise because he jerks back, face blotchy, babbling, “W-what are you doing?”

Steve shrugs. “Is this okay?” He asks, leans in again before receiving an answer, lips grazing over Billy’s.

When there’s no resistance, only a puff of breath, he pushes forward and dips his tongue into the heat of Billy’s mouth.

Then there’s a hand on his chest, firmly moving him back. “Steve, _jesus_.”

It’s one of the few times Billy has ever used his first name.

He takes Billy’s hand in his, keeps the contact between them. “What? You don't want to?”

Billy tries to tug his fingers away but Steve doesn’t let him go. “Just. What the fuck?”

Cocking an eyebrow, he asks, “Are you really that surprised?

Billy stares at the water, moves his eyes slowly up to meet Steve’s.

“Yes?” It’s a question.

Steve smirks, feels like he’s in charge for once. “That’s cute.”

He’s emboldened by the liquor, confident with his high. He slides over, moving through the water easily and straddles Billy.

It’s instantaneous.

Billy’s got his hands on the back of Steve’s thighs and he’s pulling him closer until their chests touch. Seconds later they’re kissing again and Steve can’t breathe, can’t think with the wet slide of Billy’s mouth, the feel of the hot water sloshing up and licking at their chests, the cool air biting where he’s exposed.

They exchange gasps as Billy shifts Steve on his lap, dicks hard in-between them, suffocating under the cotton.

Then they’re attached again, tasting each other, and Steve swears there’s an underlying essence of pomegranate, something sweet and bitter past the smoke and whiskey.

He digs his hands into Billy’s shoulders, grinds down and Billy retaliates by biting Steve’s lip harshly, a noise even rougher coming out of the back of his throat and Steve intends to tuck that sound away for later, wants to know what other noises he can pull out of him.

Steve keeps moving his hips, and Billy’s jerking up to meet his thrusts, uncoordinated and desperate, begging with his body.

Steve gets his fingers in Billy’s hair, pulls his head back and watches, _fascinated_ as Billy’s mouth falls open, eyes blown out, fluttering under his lashes.

“Feel good?” Steve asks in a whisper.

“ _Fuck_ yeah.” Billy whines, his hands gripping Steve’s sides.

The water stalls their movement slightly, not allowing them to go as fast, as _hard_ as they want and it’s making Steve frustrated, gritting his teeth and trying to pick up the pace.

Billy’s nails, pruney fingers, hot palms clench down harder and Steve knows there’ll be bruises, that he’ll be able to put his fingers where Billy’s were and press down, feel the reminding ache and it’ll make him hard.

As tan as he is, Steve can still see the blush on Billy’s neck, dripping down onto his chest like blood in bathwater.

He slows his hips, leans down and gets his teeth into the flesh of Billy’s neck, his body arched away because of the position he’s in.

Billy lets out a pathetic sound, something broken and brittle and it burns low in Steve’s stomach.

Steve bites lightly, sucks the abused skin into his mouth and then licks at it languidly.

“Steve, can we, _fuck_ , can we go inside?” Billy begs, pushes Steve away a little so he can look at his face.

“Already over the hot tub?” Steve asks with a grin.

Billy gets his hand on Steve’s ass, holds him tight and tries to stand with Steve wrapped around him.

Which he totally could do, if it wasn’t for the whiskey in his belly and the slippery floor of the tub.

But the cold air makes Steve scramble away, back into the warmth of the water.

“Come _on_.” Billy insists, getting out and speed-walking across the concrete and back into the house.

Steve puffs out clouds of air and licks his lips, takes a deep, bracing breath and dashes out of the hot tub.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Steve’s room smells like chlorine when he wakes up. His skin is tight, dry and warm under his duvet. Outside his window the snow is falling, dripping thick flakes onto the tree branch and he can’t see past it.

He looks over and sees Billy next to him lying on his stomach.

Billy’s got some marks on his back, scratches and imprints of teeth where Steve couldn’t help but bite. He’s not smiling, but his mouth is turned up a little, like he’s pleased.

Steve knows there’s things to do, cleaning and throwing away trash and empty beer bottles but he can’t move, knows that when he does the illusion will be broken.

Billy jolts when his eyes open, like he’s scared, pulled out of a dreamscape he never intended to leave.

“Hey.” Steve says lazily.

Billy doesn’t reply for a moment, he’s gathering his bearings, trying to piece together where he is.

“I...spent the night?”

Steve grins. “Yeah, we were tired after -- "

“I’m dead. I’m _so_ dead.” Billy says, jumps out of bed and paces around the room.

Their boxers are in a sodden pile on the ground, still soaked and freezing to the touch.

“Where the hell are my clothes?” Billy hisses.

Steve scratches his head. “I don't know, look under the bed.”

Billy’s babbling, “I gotta go, I shouldn’t have stayed, my dad is going to -- ”

“Hey, whoa,” Steve gets out of bed too, gets Billy in his hands, any part he can touch, and pulls him close.

Billy is resistant. He tries to move Steve’s hands off of him but Steve won’t let go, leans in and puts his face in Billy’s neck.

He inhales, the smell of the hot tub lingers on both of them. It’s weirdly intoxicating and he keeps getting flashes of the night before; cool skin warming beneath his hands as he worked them greedily over Billy’s body, that look of desire that made Billy’s face morph into something Steve had never seen before, how powerful Steve felt as Billy said his name over and over.

Steve kisses Billy, knows he’s good at it, can feel Billy relax with each incessant press of his mouth.

“Bed.” Steve whispers against Billy’s mouth, guides Billy back with him.

He’s still trying to pull away but it’s weaker this time, “Steve, I-I have to --”

But Steve’s at the edge of the bed, sits down and holds Billy by his hips, fingers digging into his ass.

He licks below Billy’s belly-button, lets his breath wash over the wet skin he leaves behind. Billy shivers above him.

“Steve -- ” He’s _begging_ , ache in his voice, trying to figure out which impossible force he’ll cave to.

Steve knows the answer. “Let me.” He insists, but he’s already won cause he can feel the bump of Billy’s dick at his chin, the wet dab of precum.

He takes Billy’s dick in his hand, right at the root and holds him before wrapping his lips around the tip.

“ _Shit_.” Billy’s breath hitches, he whimpers after the word.

Steve likes Billy like this, pliant and easy and completely under his control.

Billy likes giving it to him too, Steve knows it. Billy likes being good. There’s so much bad in his life, so much he feels like he does _wrong_ , giving Steve this makes him thrum with want, his touch-starved skin reacting so beautifully under Steve’s fingers and the sweet suction of his mouth.

Steve takes more of Billy into his mouth, his dick hot, hard and obedient as Steve sucks, swirls his tongue, groans in pleasure at the headiness of it.

Billy’s got his fingers threaded through Steve’s hair, his knees are shaking, like he’s going to buckle but Steve doesn’t let up, isn’t going to give him a chance to move or think.

He reaches down with his free hand and cups Billy’s balls, massaging them and Billy whines, high in his throat and Steve pulls his mouth back with a sinful sound, something lewd he didn’t even know he had _in_ him.

“You’re so good for me.” He says lowly, looking up into Billy’s sex-blown eyes, mouth red and hanging open like he’s in shock. “Beautiful.” Steve breathes.

Billy swallows, it clicks in his throat. “You...you should see yourself. _You’re_ beautiful.”

Steve grins, feels the smirk pull over his mouth like it’s _Billy’s_ , an imitation of the wickedness he always sees in the other boy.

Billy shuffles closer, bites his lip as Steve adjusts his hold on Billy’s balls.

“Want something?” Steve asks innocently, tilting his head a little.

“Please.” Billy begs, “don't stop now.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Steve, c’mon.”

“Say it.”

“ _Fuck_ , please just--suck my dick, please?”

Steve, sated with his words, leans back in and licks at the tip of Billy’s dick, little catlike licks that make Billy groan and grapple for Steve’s shoulders.

He takes Billy back into his mouth, the weight of him daunting on Steve’s tongue but he goes down further and further till Billy’s dick brushes the back of his throat.

He tries not to gag. This is only his second time doing this.

He pulls back a little, gives himself room to breath and sucks hard, lets his mouth get wet with saliva and precum and Billy keens, swaying forward a little. Steve grabs his hip to still him.

He bobs his head, slow and steady likes feeling the stretch of his lips around Billy’s dick.

Billy’s breathing heavily and it’s music to Steve’s ears when it hitches as Steve moves his hand up to brush his fingers over Billy’s nipple.

He twitches when Steve squeezes, lets his hand drift down and run over Billy’s abdomen.

Steve picks up the pace, moving faster over Billy’s dick, trying to keep his teeth in check but Billy’s sadistic, likes the little nick of molars, doesn’t tell Steve to watch himself.

Steve lets his tongue work around the head and Billy tightens his hold on Steve’s shoulders.

“S-Steve, I’m-- ”

But Steve. Is _mean_. He pulls off and Billy looks _wild_ with his impending orgasm being ripped away from him.

Steve opens his mouth, tongue sticking out. Billy blinks.

“I want you to cum on my face.”

Billy doesn’t need to be told twice. He grips his dick, wrist flying as he pumps, the tip hitting Steve’s tongue

“You’re filthy, you know that? You’re unfuckingreal.” Billy’s mumbling, gets a handful of Steve’s hair and pulls his head back even more, groaning at the image he’s got in front of him.

Steve looks up, makes sure his eyes are the picture of need, makes a sound in the back of his throat like he’s asking nicely for his reward.

“Can’t fucking believe this, god Steve, _fuck_.”

Steve feels the cum when it lands on his tongue, warm as it spills onto his chin, down the front of his chest.

He feels amazing, dirty and wrong in the best way.

Billy can’t breathe, is gasping for air but can’t tear his eyes away from Steve moving his tongue around, catching what he can and tasting it.

“Jesus, my little porn star, huh?” Billy murmurs, bends down, knees still shaky with aftershocks as he catches Steve’s mouth.

It should be gross but it’s not, Steve’s mouth is hot and salty and wet and Billy could get hard all over -- in seconds -- just from the way Steve kisses.

Billy pulls back, nuzzles Steve a little with his forehead. “Fuck you, I need to leave and now I’m ruined. I just want to sleep.”

“So stay.” Steve insists.

“Can’t. Gotta go, baby.” Billy finds his awful sweater and pulls it over his head.

Steve’s heart lurches at the pet name. He watches from the bed, not moving.

Billy finds his pants and puts those on, commando.

“Wanna go for a drive tomorrow?” Steve asks.

Billy goes over to him, puts his hand on Steve’s head, it makes him preen under the attention.

“Yeah, let’s go somewhere.” He says softly.

Steve looks up, lets his mouth slacken, he’s asking for a kiss.

Billy swipes his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip. “Nuh-uh, can’t be pulled back in you sneak. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Steve drops his mouth, _offended_ that he’s not getting the kiss he wants.

“You asshole.” He spits out.

“You love it.” Billy replies before strolling out of Steve’s room.

Steve throws one of his pillows at the door, flopping back onto the bed after it lands.

He feels so good, all snuggled under the warm blanket, thinks he’ll spend the whole day in bed.

A door shutting makes him jump. He must’ve dozed off. He realizes, horrified, that his parents are home and he hadn’t even _begun_ cleaning up.

He gulps, hopes that maybe his parents will stumble up to their room and pass out.

“Steven?”

_Dammit._

“Why is the hot tub running? What happened in here?”

“Oh fuck me.” He says flatly.


End file.
